


Demands of the Qun

by commanderlurker (honeybee592)



Series: OTP: You're the boss [5]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fix-It, Minor Character Death, Tal-Vashoth Iron Bull
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 12:08:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11554908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeybee592/pseuds/commanderlurker
Summary: Bull receives new orders: brokering an alliance between the qunari and the Inquisition. As much as he'd rather the qunari stay "over there", he's looking forward to reaffirming his connection with the qun. It should be a straightforward operation, but when does anything go to plan when Vints are involved?This is my attempt at reconciling the plot holes and parts that don't make sense from Bull's loyalty mission as it's played out in game, as well as exploring Bull's breakdown following the sacrifice of the dreadnought. I've followed the game fairly closely while developing the scenes that happen in between.





	1. New orders

**Author's Note:**

> Good to finally get this out of my drafts!

Like most of the dead drops Bull used, this one was just a hole in a log. Varric was right: this would be more exciting with surreptitious glances and coded handshakes. He glared at a ram wandering by.

“Fuck off,” he growled. Nice rack though. He’d take the head if he could be bothered carting it back to Skyhold.

He groaned as he knelt--a luxury he only afforded himself when he was alone--and dug around in the log. Dry, lots of leaf litter. Well hidden. Sure enough, something smooth brushed his knuckles. Just the usual cylinder, but this one had a cypher around the centre. Couldn’t open it without the code, not without tripping the security and spilling ink all over the paper inside. Or blowing yourself up with gatlok, if the big horns thought the message was so classified that no one should even be granted the privilege of being left alive after trying to steal its secrets.

The log made a comfortable back rest as Bull settled himself on the ground. He twisted the letters on the cypher, ticking off each part of the code until the cylinder clicked and opened.

He frowned. The paper was thin and brittle, strands of plant still visible. This had come all the way from Qunandar, not from any outposts in Ferelden. His frown deepened as he read the first line, brows drawing so close together by the end that his eyepatch dug into his skin. _They can’t be serious._ He dropped his hands to his knees, the paper pinched between thumb and forefinger. He looked up, stared at the forest without seeing it. Looked back at the message, read it again. Fuck. They _were_ serious.

Bull stared at the forest again, trying to picture beresaad, ben-hassrath, the entire antaam marching through--as allies, not enemies. Helping not converting. He shook his head. No. No good. They belonged _over there_. And he was supposed to facilitate this… alliance? He was no beresaad, no diplomat. Not technically, at least. But Bull was smart--the big horns knew that, too. Anyway, he was in with the Inquisition already. They would’ve sent someone else to do the talking if they didn’t think Bull was up to the challenge.

He blew out a breath. Right. Challenge accepted.

*

Times like these Krem wished Bull really was Tal-Vashoth. Wished he wasn’t Bull’s confidant, either. But here he was, fending off hits from Bull’s shield, trying to concentrate and think through what Bull’d told him. Multitasking, Bull called it. Fucking exhausting is what Krem called it.

Bull hit hard, sending Krem staggering back. Caught himself before he landed on his arse. Not that Bull cared.

“For fuck’s sake, Krem. How many times do we have to do this until you get it right?” Bull spat, rolled his shoulders.

Krem fixed his footing and shook his head. Bull didn’t mean to be so harsh. Well, he did. He was on edge so Krem didn’t take it personally. But still, as Bull explained what the latest letter had said between shield bashes, Krem got the reason for Bull’s mood. He hadn’t seem him like this in a long time. Getting orders was one thing, but brokering alliance? Krem didn’t even know where to start on that one.

He planted his feet, settled his weight, narrowed his eyes, hunkered down for Bull’s charge. Only a flash of tan behind Bull distracted him for a moment too long and this time he really did end up on his arse. Bull cursed him out again as he sat in the mud.

“Give me a chance, Chief.” Krem rubbed his backside as he got to his knees.

“You don’t get a chance in battle. You know that.”

“Yeah yeah. Go eat a pile of nug shit, you stupid--” That tan figure peered down at him, blue eyes all worried. “Uh, Your Grace.” He wiped his hands on his pants, gave a stiff bow.

“Are you having fun?” she asked. She sounded worried that they might not be having fun.

“Plenty”, Krem mumbled.

“Hey Boss. Just in time. I’ve been meaning to talk to you.” A hint of anger betrayed an otherwise cheery tone.

Grace glanced between the pair again, like she wondered why Bull hadn’t just found her instead of pummeling Krem to the ground. Or maybe that was just Krem’s preference.

Bull ran through the contents of the message. No bullshit, straight up: the qunari were offering an alliance with the Inquisition. “They don’t like Corypheus or his Venatori. And they _really_ don’t like red lyrium. They want to join forces. The qunari and the Inquisition. Get rid of the red lyrium and get rid of Corypheus.” Grace just stared at Bull.

Not for the first time, Krem wondered if there was anything going on between her ears, especially when all she said in response to Bull’s monologue was, “okay.” Okay. Like he’d told her dinner would be late. A minor inconvenience but nothing to fret over. Right.

“Think it over. We’ll talk later.” Bull dismissed Grace by turning back to Krem and holding up his shield. He charged, but Krem got his own shield up in time and blocked the hit. “Ha! That’s better.”

Krem didn’t notice Grace leave. He had a grin on his face and sweat in his eyes. Bull laughed and charged, at ease now that he’d delivered the bad news.

*

“An alliance with the qunari? You can’t be serious!”

Bull expected that reaction from Cullen. And Cassandra, though she just frowned even more deeply than usual. Cullen looked like his eyes were about to pop out of their sockets while Josephine smirked, intrigued. Red said nothing. On one side of him, Grace buried her face in a cat’s belly. On the other, Krem stood with his back straight, hands clasped behind his back.

“Just what are the Qunari suggesting?” Josephine asked.

“An alliance between the Inquisition and the qunari.” Keeping his answers simple and short would be best for everyone, even himself.

Cullen scoffed. “You just said that. What does that even mean?”

“Well, that’s hard to say. We’ve never done something like this before. Made an alliance, that is.”

Cullen and Josephine peppered Bull with questions, alternating between antagonistic and inquisitive. Grace remained quiet, cuddling her cat against her chest. She’d be listening. Anyway, she’d found him after his training and had told him in a roundabout and very apologetic way that as much as she trusted him, she didn’t really trust _them_. Heh. He didn’t trust them either.

“What do _you_ think, Bull?” Red asked, voice level.

Bull scratched his chin, looked to Krem, who had a bored expression; looked to Grace, who mumbled something into the cat’s fur.

“I think they’re scared shitless.” That got a round of stares. He made use of the silence to continue. “We don’t like demons and you know what we do to our mages. The reports I’ve read from the Ben-Hassrath around Orlais and Ferelden are all calm and matter of fact. But those guys aren’t _qunari_ qunari. They’re viddathari--converts. Elves and humans, mostly. They’ve been around magic and mages, maybe seen a little of the good that can come of that. But the qunari--with a capital Q--around the Free Marches? They’re shitting their pants. They don’t want all these demons crossing the sea.” Bull barked a laugh. “You should see the shit I’ve been getting from the guys back home.”

Red cracked a subtle smile, for she had, in fact, seen the hyperbolic (for qunari at least) language in those messages. Bull had shared them with her, laughed as they drank wine up in Red’s nook.

“These rifts popping up everywhere are one thing but they trust that the Inquisition has that under control. Couldn’t give a fuck about your mage-templar tiff. It’s the raw material they’re worried about.” He didn’t mention his theory that the qunari wanted the red lyrium for their own, Tevinter conquering purposes. That would shut the talks down immediately. “That shit falls into the wrong hands--Vint hands--and it’s not just the Venatori cultists who’ve suddenly got magical powers. That shit’ll get back to Minrathous one way or another and then we’ve got a game changer in the weapons of war. Gatlock’s our edge. Badass armour made from rock coupled with powerful mages--Tevinter will run riot over Thedas, magister-god asshole or not. We don’t want _that_ happening.” Bull ended his speech with an emphasis that he hoped indicated that the ‘we’ in question extended further than just the qunari.

After a moment of silence and keen stares at the war table map, Cullen spoke up. “So this alliance is all about self-preservation.” Smart man, but he was just stating the obvious.

“Alliances are always about self-preservation,” said Josephine. “Now that we have an idea of what the qunari motivation for this alliance is, what would such an alliance bring us? What will we give them? What do they want in return?”

Bull smiled. He liked this politician. He could help her unwind too, if he thought he could get away with it, which he didn’t. “Josie, one question at a time, please. I’ll answer those backwards.” So he could end with the explosive finale rather than peter out with the boring stuff. “They want more intel. Want to make sure we’ve got that breach and demon army thing under control. But more than that, they want the red lyrium trade stopped. And that leads to the second question. We’ll give them what we know about red lyrium mines, the effects that shit has, who’s known to have it, that sort of thing. And _that_ leads to your last question. Or your first.” He waited until he had the attention of all the advisors. “In return for all that, they will give you men for your army, Cullen. More spies for your network, Red. And ships. Men on ships. With gaatlok. Boom!” he laughed, laughed harder when they jumped at his boom.

Cullen wasn’t convinced. “They’re going to just hand over their soldiers to be under my command?”

“Shit no. But with addition of intel coming from Red, they’ll be able to put a dent in supply lines, drive Venatori out of their northern holes. And their ships can sail up and down the coast causing trouble. Ever seen a qunari dreadnought? It really brings a tear to the eye.”

“The southern countries are not going to be happy with bands of qunari prowling the land and sea. They’ll think it’s Kirkwall all over again!”

Bull had anticipated this objection. “That’s why we make this alliance public. Totally transparent. Let those coast dwellers know that the ox men are on their side.”

A few around the table snorted. Josephine looked horrified.

“What about conversions?” Leliana asked.

“Not interested. This is an alliance only.”

”What happens when Corypheus is defeated?”

Bull shrugged. “Either they go home or they invade Thedas.”

“That is not very comforting.”

“It’s all moot until we’ve proved ourselves to them.” Bull shrugged.

The advisors all stared at Bull, a mix of confusion and annoyance.

“What do you mean?” Josie asked.

“They want to do a test run first, see if we can work together. They’ve given us a plan.” He outlined the plan as it had been told to him in that cypher. A Venatori shipment operating out of a smugglers cove on the Storm Coast. Small, but not without risk.

Cullen objected with predictability. “Let’s send troops in, take out the Venatori en mass.”

Leliana shook her head at the same time as Bull. He inclined his head, inviting her to explain. “First, this is a test. We have to be seen to be able to work together, that we trust each other, and what better way to show that than with the Inquisitor herself? Second, a show of force will tip off the smugglers. We need them to think that nothing unusual is about to happen or they’ll shut down and we’ll _all_ miss an opportunity to catch them before they set up somewhere else.”

Cullen seemed accept Leliana’s explanation grudgingly. Perhaps the discussion of small groups versus big troops was an ongoing debate between these two.

Josephine tapped her board. “Well, I, for one, am up for this initial mission. It will give both sides a chance to assess each other. Bull, I would request that any commitment to an alliance, public or otherwise, wait until the conclusion of this initial collaboration.”

Bull nodded. “Not a problem.” Cassandra and Cullen nodded, tersely. Leliana nodded once. Grace smiled.

Great, that went better than he thought it would.


	2. Mission

The closer to the coast they got, the heavier the rain fell, and the more anxious Bull became. The dead drops had been empty. No clue as to who he’d even be meeting out here. Nothing about the venatori, either. The qunari were really keeping this one under wraps. Odd, since the operation didn’t sound anywhere as massive as the red lyrium mines in the Emprise du Lion. He doubted this was a set-up, but still, something didn’t sit right. To distract himself from the mission and all the elements outside of his control, he recited his favourite cantos. The rhythm of the qunlat verses didn’t fit the clu-clump clu-clump of Crusher’s footfall so he translated to common.   

He scoured the horizon whenever the group crested a hill, searching for the tell-tale spiked curves a dreadnought’s prow. Didn’t see any of course. Couldn’t even see the sea yet. Just trees and rocks and trees and rocks through the rain.

On morning, Dorian rode up beside him, looking behind, around. Assessing where the nearest ears were, Bull figured.

“Any concerns that this might be a trap?” Dorian asked, voice low, keen eye on the lookout for tells. Like Bull was that easy.

“Sure.”

Dorian didn’t startle, much to Bull’s annoyance. But also pride. “And that doesn’t bother you, that you could be leading us all to our deaths? What are we supposed to do if we all die?”

“We’ll be dead. We won’t be doing anything.”

Dorian huffed. “You’re being obstinate and you know it. I shall rephrase the question, shall I? What’s Thedas supposed to do if young Grace back there dies?”

Bull straightened up in the saddle and assessed Dorian. The rain had dampened his hair, glistening wet catching at the corners of his eyes, in crows feet he’d be too proud to admit were there. He’d needn't worry; they added to his good looks. “They won’t kill her even if they capture her. The breach may be sealed but her work isn’t done yet. They know that. They want her kept alive just as much as we do. That’s why they have suggested this alliance.”

“What if they _do_ want her for their own purpose, hmm? Will you just stand aside and let them take her?” Dorian didn’t give Bull a chance to reply to that. “And what’s all this ‘they’ talk? You keep saying ‘we’ and ‘they’. Just whose side are you on, the Iron Bull?” He mocked and Bull fought the urge to scowl.

As much as it grated, Dorian had a point. Bull’d been away from the qun for too long, left to his own devices and look what had happened. This mission would be a good reminder of who he was. “I do what the qun demands,” Bull said.

“One day that won’t be enough.” Dorian glared and trotted forward, leaving Bull to his own, conflicting, thoughts.

When not even the soul canto could soothe, Bull rode back to the Chargers and joined in with their bawdy riding songs.

*

All Bull’s doubts fizzled away as the group rode into the Inquisition’s coastal camp. A familiar face was there to greet him. Gatt stood at a wary distance from the Inquisition officers, arms folded, expression sour, angry at everything, just as he’d always been. Bull dismounted from Crusher before he’d even come to a halt, letting go of the reins and striding into the camp. “Gatt!”

The Inquisition officer huffed. “He insisted on staying and waiting for you, ser.”

Bull flung his arms wide, grin reaching his ears. “Gatt, you bastard, what brings you out here?”

Gatt’s smile was subtle but his eyes twinkled. “I’m here for this alliance.”

Bull threw his arm around Gatt’s shoulders and presented him to the Inquisition and Chargers. “Everyone, this is Gatt. We were buddies in Seheron.” Bull looked down at Gatt, grinning. “Shit, I can’t believe you’re the one they sent. What’s been happening? How long have you been out of Seheron?” He lead Gatt to a bench so they could catch up, leaving the Chargers and the others to unload their gear and settle the horses.

“I left Seheron not long after you did. Wasn’t the same without you,” Gatt said. Bull barked an uneasy laugh. “Now I go where the qun needs me. I’m useful out here. I’m doing good work.”

“Not a firecracker any more, huh? Dampened that rage but not your spirit? That’s good. That’s what I like to hear.”

Gatt smiled but there was no humour in it. “There’s only so much of Seheron that anyone can take, no matter how much of a firecracker they are.”

Bull grunted. “Damn straight.” Best not think about that place anymore. “So, this alliance. What do you know about it?”

“Straight to business?” Gatt laughed, genuine this time. He looked around the camp and lowered his voice. “We’ll talk about it later. My qunlat is too shaky for us to talk here. Why don’t you introduce me to your boss? The one with the nice eyes, so I’m told?”

Bull grinned and slapped Gatt on the back. “Sure thing, let’s go.” Details could wait.

*

Gatt hardly needed to be introduced; he could tell who everyone was just off the descriptions Hissrad had included in his reports, but Hissrad went around the group saying each name and Gatt dutifully shook each offered hand, even the Tevinters’. _Both_ of the Tevinters--the mage and the lieutenant. Hissrad really had put together an impressive company. Not surprising. He had an understanding of how people worked that was beyond Gatt’s patience. But that was Hissrad’s way. Despite being handy with an axe, he’d rather talk his way into a pocket than smash everything in sight. He played the long game well. There was a lot Gatt could still learn from him, of that he was sure.

After Dorian Pavus and Cremisius Aclassi came Cassandra Pentaghast. She’d popped up in a few of the Ben Hassrath reports even before the sky blew up. A Seeker, one who did similar enough work to the Ben Hassrath that Gatt couldn’t help but smile. She probably had no idea just how much her order had in common with the qunari. Probably wouldn’t believe it even if she were told. No one liked to be compared to qunari, least of all admit that they could possibly share any similarities.

Finally, the Herald of Andraste herself, one Lady Trevelyan. Or, “Boss” as Hissrad had so casually said when they first rode into camp. That she looked exactly how Hissrad had described wasn’t remarkable. What caught Gatt were those little details that Hissrad had put in his reports, the notions, the similes. She did have the look of someone who walked around with cotton wool in their ears. He’d have to take Hissrad’s word that she wasn’t as stupid as she looked.

“A pleasure to meet you, Gatt,” she said. “You and Bull are friends? He’s never mentioned you before but I’m sure that is merely an oversight on his part.” She did indeed appear genuine, if somewhat timid, but her smile was fake. Gatt wouldn’t’ve known unless he’d read that she rarely showed her teeth if her smile were fake.

“That must be about the only thing he’s not mentioned.” Gatt spat the words out before he could stop them.

Hissrad glared at him. That was unfair of Gatt. He hadn’t understood Hissrad’s methods at first, telling the Inquisition exactly who he was and what he was doing there but Hissrad had a way of doing things that rarely made sense even to his superiors. It made him… not qunari, in a way. Even for Ben Hassrath he was considered peculiar. His re-education wasn’t to blame, either. He’d always been like that, always strolled along that knife edge. But everything he did, he did for the qun. There could be no doubting that.

“He’s been very forthcoming and he’s very good at his job,” the Herald said.

The Seeker shifted, her armour creaking. She’d not even taken off her shield. “What is the qunari plan for this test?” Right, and there was the real authority.

“Test?” Gatt asked.

The Seeker scowled. “Yes, this alliance isn’t a given, we both know that. What do the qunari need from us to ensure their allegiance against the breach?”

“The same thing as the Inquisition. Trust in each other to share accurate and reliable information.”

“Have we not been doing that already?” She looked to Hissrad.

Hissrad shrugged. “The reports I’ve been giving to the Inquisition haven’t exactly been officially shared. If your spymaster just happened to know qunlat and just happened to know how to crack qunari code, then that’s her good luck, isn’t it?”

Gatt didn’t think the Seeker’s scowl could get any deeper. Her lips narrowed to a line and for a moment, Gatt thought she might actually punch Hissrad. “Speak plainly, both of you.”

Gatt hid his smile in a sigh. “Very well, I’ll fetch the map and outline what we know.”

*

Bull chewed over the plan with the same grim determination needed for eating this stew. Damn, he didn’t think anyone could fuck up a stew, especially not Fereldens, but here he was, crunching down on gristle. Beside him, Grace had picked out all the potatoes and carrots leaving a meat soup.

“Here,” he said, taking her bowl and balancing it on his lap while he fished out the meat from his and dumped it all in hers. She looked mortified until he handed her his bowl with only the vegetables left.

“Thank you,” she said. She looked around then leaned in. “This is awful. I have cheese in my bag. I’ll share with you later if you want.”

Bull smiled. Trust her to have a secret supply of cheese and trust her to want to share it. She went back to poking at her stew and Bull went back to thinking about Gatt’s plan. Gatt was the only qunari representative in the camp but there were bound to be others around. Ones from the beresaad, scouts and rangers. Qunari, not viddathari. Plus there was a whole fucking dreadnought lurking on the Waking Sea. A thrill went through Bull at the chance to see one of those in action again. The _destruction_. The _power_.

The qunari intel looked tight enough but their maps weren’t as good as the Inquisition’s. They hadn’t been traipsing through this land as long as the Fereldens had been. Still, the mission looked straightforward. Or, it should be. Nothing involving Vints was ever easy and these Venatori were another breed of evil. Bull made a mental note to remind his boys of that. Still, it should be a textbook operation.

After doing his share of the cleaning, Bull wandered over to the Chargers’ side of the camp. Krem had a toy nug on the go but said he was going to sit by the Inquisition fire. Whatever Stitches was brewing smelled like arse, he said. Rocky and Grim were engaged in a silent game of Diamondback. Dalish and Skinner sat rugged up by the fire. From the looks of it, Stitches expected a battle of massive proportions. He had potion bottles strewn about and three burners on the go stewing various concoctions. Yeah, it fucking stank. Bull left him to it and got more beer before sitting back down with the Inquisition circle. He regretted it immediately when Dorian turned to him with that shrewd look of his.

“So, your nickname is Hissrad, yes?” Dorian asked. Great. An interrogation by the Tevinter. Just what he needed.

“Yeah,” Bull replied, trying to stay conversational and light. “Means… keeper of illusions, or--”

“Liar. It means liar,” Gatt said.

Bull scowled. “Well you don’t have to put it like that.”

“It’s what you do. What you’ve always done.”

“There’s a reason you’re nicknamed after gatlok,” Bull muttered.

“Hnnnm.” Grace sat there with her mouth half open, frown wrinkling her forehead. Her thinking face. “I think I prefer ‘keeper of illusions’. That sounds more like who you are.”

“Believe whatever you want, Inquisitor. It doesn’t change the truth.” Gatt. The years hadn’t changed him.

Dorian snorted.

Grace glared at Gatt. “Bull has been nothing but honest with the Inquisition.”

This time Gatt snorted. “Hasn’t he just.” He turned to Bull. “Telling the the Inquisition all our secrets. Goes both ways, I suppose.”

“Gatt--”

“Don’t worry, Hissrad. I know how things work out here just as well as you do. Anyway, our superiors say you’ve been doing good work for the qun.”

“Yes, Bull’s been busy _doing_ many things, “ Dorian snapped.

“Dorian!” Grace looked mortified. “Must you be so rude?” She turned to Gatt and cleared her throat. “Gatt? How did you come to join the qun?”

Bull raised his eyebrow and tilted his head to take in Gatt’s expression. He got the tone of her voice, the blatant attempt at a change of subject, but shit what a conversation to start. To Gatt’s credit, he didn’t scoff. He eyed Grace, assessing her. After a moment, he spoke.

“I was travelling with my master. Qunari killed him and freed me. More than that, you don’t need to know.” Well, that was the short version. True enough though.

Grace’s frowned. “But did they convert you? Make you join?”

Gatt sighed, blowing a long puff of breath out his nose. “The choice to join the qun was my own. My master may have fed me and clothed me but he did not care for me, not like the qunari. They gave me a better life. It’s not perfect, but it’s better than what I could have had.”

“Why did you stay with them?” Dorian asked. “You were free. You could have stayed free.”

Gatt glared at Dorian. Dorian didn’t cower. “I didn’t have to join,” He said to Grace. “They didn’t make me. They rescued me when I was eight. I converted when I was thirteen.”

“Are you happy now?” Grace asked.

Gatt’s lips curled into a smile. “Yes, I am.”

“Then that’s all that matters, isn’t it.” Grace forced a smile back.

Dorian scoffed. “Yes. Such a happy life free of independent thought and freedom.”

Krem, who had been so quietly sewing away next to the fire that Bull had all but forgotten him, sat up with a start. “You want to talk about freedom?” he spat. “In Tevinter you’re nothing if you’re not a mage.” He shoved his sewing back into his bag and fixed Dorian with the most ferocious glare Bull had ever seen from him. “You don’t know the half of what goes on there. You’re up there being a pampered Altus while the Sopoati keep the country running. And for what? For the hope that magic manifests in our children so they can raise the family name from the dirt? We’re considered little better than slaves. My family, my father--” Krem’s voice broke. He swallowed, hard, but the floodgates had opened. “You talk about freedom and freewill but who cleans your houses and cooks your food and wipes your fucking arses? Tevinter’s founded on slavery and you know it. What about _their_ freedom?” He pointed at Gatt. “No wonder they’re clamoring for the qun. A life doing the work you’re best at? Enough food and dry lodgings and people who _care_ for you? Who wouldn’t want that? Sounds like fucking paradise.” Krem stood. He cleared his throat and hoiked up a gob of spit. It landed right on the toe of Dorian’s boot. “You’re nothing but a spoiled brat, Dorian fucking Pavus. Next time you open your trap to spout shit, spare a thought for those of us who have to wipe your chin.”

Krem stormed away leaving silence in his wake. Dorian looked on the verge of exploding, face bright red even in the firelight, a vein on his temple throbbing. Even his moustache quivered. Both Grace and Gatt sat open mouthed. Bull caught his own smile. Brought his hand to his mouth, allowing himself to grin into his palm before swiping the smile away and replacing it with a sobre scowl more appropriate for the moment. The move caught Dorian’s attention. His glare shifted from where Krem had been standing to Bull.

“Are you just going to let him get away with that?” Dorian snapped.

Bull shrugged, one shouldered. “And what do you expect me to do?”

“He’s your second in command! You can’t just let him talk to me like that!”

“Because you’re altus and he’s sopoati?” He said it just to get a rise out of Dorian. It worked. Dorian’s lips pursed to a dog’s asshole pucker. “Or was it because his truths hit a little too close to home.” Dorian’s fingers clawed his trousers and just for a second, a sizzle of magic punctuated the air. Right. Limits reached. “I’ll have a word to him once he’s had a chance to cool down. You know what Vints are like with their tempers, mages or not.”

The group sat in awkward silence, all of them staring at the fire. Bull watched them in equal parts amusement and sympathy. Not often his own boys blew up like that, let alone Krem. Probably the first time Bull’d seen him lose it like that. Good to know he had the balls to tear Dorian a new one. Truth was, he saved Bull from doing it. But, yeah, he’d have to go and find Krem before everyone hit the sack and give him a nudge. In the meantime, everyone sat around looking like the person next to them shat the bed. Bull slapped his thighs. “Who wants a drink?” He stood up, muttering to himself, “‘Cause I could fucking use one…”

*

The day of the mission dawned grey and wet. Grace sat in her tent, back hunched and legs bent as she pulled on her armour. Drizzle pattered against the canvas with the occasional big splat as the branches above got too heavy and shed their watery weight. At least the rain would muffle their movements.

The group ate breakfast under a canopy. No one seemed much like talking, least of all Dorian. He stood there looking sullen as he spooned cold lumpy porridge into his mouth. Cassandra leant over the travelling war table, scowling and sighing. Iron Bull was over at the Chargers camp, axe slung over his shoulder, skin all silvery in the rain as he talked to his boys. People. _He_ called them his boys even though there were girls--women--in the group. Gatt was… no where, or not anywhere Grace could see. Maybe he was over with the Chargers, or maybe he’d gone back to his own camp. He seemed nice enough. No, that was being too charitable. She only thought that because Bull spoke so highly of him. If she were being honest with herself, she’d say that he came across a little rude and forthright.

Grace took a bowl from the cook and started glumly chewing as well. Bull wandered over and gave Grace a big smile but didn’t stop to talk.

Somewhere along the way Gatt returned. He said that the mission parameters hadn’t changed. The Venatori were none the wiser. Bull laughed, bellowed more like. He had a sparkle to his eye that Grace hadn’t seen before. He stood taller, straighter, and even though he always looked confident and in control, now he looked… he looked like he was home. Doing this, killing Tevinters with his own people, qunari, this was where he was meant to be. A pang went through Grace that he didn’t feel at home with her, because she felt at home with him. Sort of. He was the closest thing to home she’d had since… since Seanna, but that was way back at Haven.

And finally, with breakfast had and preparations complete, they were ready. They set off on foot, Gatt leading, then Cassandra, Dorian, and Grace, with Bull and the Chargers behind. The forest path was too narrow to walk together, so singlefile it was. Grace would have preferred to walk next to Dorian, or Bull, even if they didn’t chat. Being alone meant her mind could wander and she couldn't stop herself from thinking.

An alliance didn’t make much sense to her. As much as she trusted Bull, she didn’t really trust the rest. Maybe that was because she hadn’t met anyone other than Gatt. Hard to form an opinion on people you hadn’t met, though their actions were felt throughout Thedas. The history books were full of what happened when qunari got the upperhand and started invading. Rivain was all but controlled by qunari, from how Grace understood it. And Kirkwall--Kirkwall had had the very Arishok himself come all the way down from Par Vollen--no Qunandar, that was the capital city--to do… something. Get a book? That’s what Varric had said. She’d once asked Bull about the book and he’d told her it was the Tome of Koslun, written in Koslun’s own hand. The cantos and parables of the qunari’s first… qunari. Leader. Maker, that would be like if the Divine herself marched from the White Spire to the Temple of Sacred Ashes to recover the ashes of Andraste herself!

And what was all this about trusting Iron Bull? The very fact that she questioned trusting him was Leliana’s doing. She’d made sure Grace remembered who Bull really worked for before they’d left for the Storm Coast. Told her not to trust anything any of _them_ said. Grace had just nodded and frowned in agreement, then went back to her cats as soon as she was free.

Something about Bull’s new mood made Grace wrinkle her nose. The way he spoke to Gatt and talked about the qun. She couldn’t quite put her finger on what was wrong. She just felt… uneasy. She looked back. Bull met her glance immediately, smiling even as rain beat down. He could be so tough, so menacing, but when he smiled, Grace’s world became that much brighter. He was Iron Bull, all right. Dull silver skin all shiny in the rain, neck as thick as a bull’s, and shoulders just as broad. She stopped, right there, in the middle of the muddy path. He was _Iron Bull_. He wasn’t anything else.

“You all right there?” the man himself. He fell in beside Grace as much as the path allowed. She started walking with him even though they brushed against low branches, spraying water about.

She ground her teeth before speaking. “Who are you?” She blurted it out. She didn’t mean to, so before he could ask her what in the Maker’s name she meant, she attempted to elaborate. “I mean, are you the Iron Bull, or Hissrad, or…”

Bull ducked under an overhanging branch. “Technically, I’m neither. My name is a series of numbers, like all qunari. That’s hard to make sense of though, so then we’re named after our roles, but since there’re a lot of bakers and priests and spies in Par Vollen, we give each other nicknames.”

“I don’t like Hissrad, even if it means keeper of illusions.”

“Stick to the Iron Bull, then.”

“I don’t like that either.”

Bull twisted that great neck of his down to look at her. He frowned. “Why not?”

“You say you like the article because it makes you a weapon, but you’re more than that. You’re a person, a wonderful, caring person.” Grace blushed and pulled her hand back when she realised she’d gone to touch him.

Bull looked ahead again. “I don’t know. I also like hitting things.”

“You can be a person who likes hitting things. You don’t have to be the axe all the time.”

“But that’s what I am, Grace. I’m a weapon.”

“A weapon doesn’t rescue kittens from burning buildings, or sneak cheese from the kitchens, or let children sit on its shoulders so they can pick apples.”

Bull walked on, saying nothing. Nothing in his expression changed, not that Grace could see. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t thinking, she knew enough about him to know that. Silence often meant she’d hit a nerve, or a truth.

“I hope this Alliance doesn’t change your role,” Grace said, not looking at him. And then, because she was brave, “I quite like you watching my back.”

He looked down at her this time, grinning. “You do have a great back, Boss.” He might’ve even winked. “Hey, don’t worry. I don’t think they’ll be sending me away once all this is worked out.”

“Let’s hope so.”

And just because of that wink, she skipped ahead, wiggling her arse as she went.

*

The rain muffled the group’s footfalls as they padded through the forest. Gatt spotted the first group of Venatori through the trees on a rise. Dalish and Skinner had taken the whole lot out before Cassandra had had the chance to confer with the group. Bull burst with pride at her scowl. Krem and Cassandra advanced onto the rise, checking out what was a small camp. When they gave the all-clear, everyone followed. They huddled under an awning, ignoring the dead, smouldering  bodies.

“So far so good,” Gatt said. A murmur of agreement went round the group. “This wasn’t their main camp though. Just a lookout. Their main camp is further along the ridge, overlooking the beach.”

“If they are operating out of a cave on the beach, then why is their main camp so far away?” Cassandra asked.

A flicker passed over Gatt’s face but Bull couldn’t get a read on it. “Maybe they’re scared of the red lyrium. They say it drives you mad.” Beside him, Grace shuddered. “The main camp is well fortified as well as a hub for communications in the area. We’ve been intercepting their messengers for weeks now.”

Bull shifted. All this talking made him antsy. “Okay, so we cut off their lyrium smuggling as well as their lines of communication. Even better. Time to kill them. Krem will lead the Chargers down to the beach. I’ll stick around up here and help take the main camp. Any objections?” Bull looked around the group. Shrugs from Krem and Dorian. Shake of the head from Cass. Grace frowned but that wasn’t unusual. Gatt half smirked.

“You’re giving them the easy job,” he said.

Bull’s turn to shrug. “You’re not afraid of getting your hands dirty, are you Gatt?” Gatt’s laugh had a sharp edge. It made Bull smile. “Just like old times, then.”

He and Krem returned to the rest of the Chargers.

“Got a plan, Chief?” Krem asked as they walked.

“Yeah. Stay alive.”

The Chargers stood around looking like they wanted to be anywhere other than the Storm Coast. Bull couldn’t blame them. They’d spent enough time further west back when this whole demony breach thing started. Krem did the talking, outlining the plan.

“And if it turns to shit?” Rocky asked.

Bull indicated the horn on his hip. “Hear that, you fall back.” Bull hadn’t had to use it too many times since commanding the Chargers, preferring to dig in and fight harder than retreat, but sometimes a fight wasn’t worth the risk.

“Why not come with us?” Skinner asked Bull.

“I”m a bodyguard these days, you know that. Can’t let the Herald out of my sight.”

“Yet you’re leading her straight into the main pack,” Krem said flatly. “Some bodyguard. Give us the camp. You take the beach.”

Bull narrowed his eye and engaged in a stare out with Krem. Taking the safer route with Grace made sense, sure, but she wasn’t one of Rocky’s experimental flasks. She could hold her own. They’d been through more dangerous shit anyway. “Take the beach, no more arguing.” Krem raised his eyebrow and shrugged in an insolent way. Damn, he’d need to go out on a mission or two with these guys real soon, assert his leadership again.

Cassandra and Gatt walked up, Grace and Dorian joining them.

“Ready?” Gatt asked.

“Ready.” Bull nodded.

“Let’s get this over with.” Cassandra started up the ridge but Bull hung back.

“Chargers,” he called. “Horns up!”

“Horns up!” they all shouted. Yeah, that was better.

*

All those fucking mages making Bull’s skin tingle and sizzle too tight under his vitaar. As it was he shivered every time the magic burst around him. He caught glimpses of Cassandra and Gatt every so often but they seemed fine dealing with all this magical crap. Must just be Bull then. Part of his problem--other than fearing demon abominations--was that their magic was so similar to Dorian’s that he couldn’t always tell if the fireballs were going to whoosh over his head or if his heart was about to be set on fire. And Dorian was doing that thing with the dead Venatori, making them rise and fight for him and that always freaked Bull out. The arrows though, at least he knew where they were coming from.

And then the camp was clear. No more magic. Bull panted as he looked around, watched Cassandra prowl for anyone still breathing. Books and bodies lay scattered and open. Someone should pack up as much of this shit as possible, all the documents. The Inquisition would want it as much as the qunari. There’d be time after they’d stopped the shipment, but there was Dorian, already with a book in his hand, turning over the pages. Bull left him to it and joined Gatt at the cliff edge.

Down below, a boat bobbed in the surf. Only one sail unfurled and it wasn’t going anywhere soon. No one moving on the beach, either. Just a few bodies and a big, deep hole in the sand ringed with black. Rocky’s doing, no doubt. A flare hovered above the trees, going dim.

“The Chargers are done already,” Bull said.

“Told you you gave them the easier target.” Gatt stared a moment longer. “Come on, let’s light our flare and get this dreadnought in.”

The flare shot up with a whoosh, red and bright. Bull looked at it a moment before turning his attention to the sea. The dreadnought rounded the cliff, cutting its way through the choppy ocean and into the calmer waters of the cove. Ah, that sight brought back memories. How many times had he done exactly this? Lit a flare to call in the destroyers? They’d blow that little smuggler ship right out of the water and Bull had front row seats. Yeah, he needed this. Needed to feel the tug of the qun to remind him who he was and what he was doing out here. Felt good. Felt solid, reassuring. He was doing good work out here, serving the qun the best way he could. Not as intense as Seheron had been, but that was okay.

A shout from the beach caught his attention. He turned away from the incoming dreadnought and--

“Ah, crap.”

Grace stepped forward and Bull checked the urge to pull her back from the cliff edge. She wasn’t stupid. She knew her surroundings. All three of them, her, Bull, and Gatt groaned as Venatori poured out onto the beach from the cave. Some headed to the boat, others towards the stand of trees where the Chargers had launched their assault. Pins of magic started lighting up, green and blue and red. They were too close and the dreadnought still too far. Grace whirled around, eyes wild. The rain had plastered her hair to her face, bun hanging limp at the nape of her neck. Mud and grit smeared on her cheek and forehead.

“Do something!” she cried. What could he do though? He stared at the beach, the dreadnought, and back again. “They’ll be killed! Call the retreat, please!”

“You do that and the Venetori turn on the dreadnought, Hissrad.” Gatt spat.

Dorian conjured his own magic and hurled a ball of fire as far as he could. It fell short. Very short. Far below, out of reach, the Chargers engaged with the Venetori. And still the dreadnought was too far away. By they time it got close enough to fire at the enemy, the Chargers would be overwhelmed. And killed. But if he called the retreat, the dreadnought wouldn’t have time to turn-- wouldn’t even know to.

“They’re my men,” he gritted out. The Chargers, the qunari. All of them.

Grace grabbed the horn from Bull’s hip, held it up to her lips and blew. A piddly huff came out, barely a sound. She took a breath to try again but Bull snatched it back. It burned his palm, punishing him for even thinking about using it.

“Please, Bull! Do the right thing.” Grace pleaded.

“Hissrad. The alliance is at stake. Do what the qun demands.” Gatt said.

Hissrad and the Iron Bull pulled both ways.

Bull trembled, his guts churning. He had to make a decision and fast. Dithering would only seal the Chargers’ fate and he wouldn’t leave them to die due to indecision on his part. _Make the call, Bull_. Walk away now and meet the victorious qunari on the beach, but pick through the dead of his men; or blow the horn and get as many of the Chargers back to safety as possible, condemning the lives in the dreadnought. On one side, Grace sobbed. The other, Gatt seethed. They both urged him to do the right thing. Bull always did the right thing. Made life easy. But now, now he didn’t know right from wrong.

One of his guys dropped to the ground. Couldn’t tell who from this distance. Didn’t matter. It was enough to make his blood boil, to send a sudden surge of incoherent rage through his veins, just like it had in Seheron. _No one_ fucked with _his_ men.

He lifted the horn as he filled his lungs, touched the mouthpiece to his lips, part of him still not believing that he was really going to do this. He blew. And as the sound flowed down the valley, low, echoing, over the beach, all that rage blew away, too, leaving him numb, shocked. What had he done? The Chargers looked up--just for a moment before making their getaway, Two figures--probably Dalish and Rocky--providing covering fire for two men in glinting armour. As the figures retreated into the forest he counted the dead on the beach. A couple of his men. Not nearly enough Venatori.

Gatt howled, hands in his hair. “What have you done?” he screamed. “You’re throwing away everything away! For what?”

Bull didn’t have an answer.

Grace pointed to the Dreadnought. “Bull, it’s still coming. Why don’t they fire or turn?”

He looked down at Grace. Innocent Grace. Naive Grace. She looked up at him, eyes filled with tears. He was saved from answering when a boom cracked the air. Followed by another. And another. Venatori fireballs pounded the ship. The qunari didn’t scream even as they were torn apart. Bull refused to flinch, wouldn’t turn away. He’d done this. He had to watch.

An explosion tore the prow clean off, smoke and steam clouding the view. That wasn’t the result of some pissy little mage spell. That was gaatlok. The ship would be lined with it and now the Kathaban had figured out what was happening, he’d made the call to sink the ship. All to make sure no one could salvage any qunari secrets or interrogate any survivors. Wouldn’t be long now. Grace grabbed Bull’s hand but he pushed her away. Another explosion made him jump. Beside him Grace’s shoulders quivered. She needed him. _She_ needed _him_ when he’d just condemned the lives of a hundred qunari. His own life.

He narrowed his eyes at her, boring into her skull. He could push her off, one shove, have his hand on his axe before the Vint could cast anything, crush him in one blow. Gatt would help with Seeker. Then he’d have to finish Gatt. He’d be the only one left standing up here, the only one who knew what had happened. He’d claim the mission went wrong, too many Venatori (true). Say him and his men were overwhelmed (sort of true). Say he never ordered the retreat, that one of the Inquisition members did (he wished that were true). They would be mad with him but they’d keep him. He might not be Iron Bull anymore but he’d still be Hissrad.

He held up his hand, flexed his fingers. One shove. His attention snagged at the two stumps of his ring and pinky fingers. Fingers he’d lost to Skinner during a night of too much booze and a boast that he was the best knife master in all the land. Skinner. He’d rescued her, angry and shivering, from a life of blinding hate. He’d given her purpose.

He’d given up a part of himself for Krem, too. His eye was nothing on Krem’s life. By chance, Bull’d been able to give him purpose, the life he’d wanted all along. Rocky, Stitches, Grim, Dalish. The lot of them. He’d made them his and he was theirs. He stared at Grace, glanced at her hand, at the green mark glowing through her glove. A mark she hadn’t asked for and didn’t want.

As another explosion rang out; he reached for Grace. He lay his hand on her shoulder, then he tugged her to him, safe from the cliff edge. She buried her face against his chest, sobbing, while he wrapped both arms around her and watched until only splinters littered the sea.

“We need to get out of here.” Gatt’s sharp voice snapped Bull out of his fog. The Venatori were leaving the beach, heading up towards Gatt and Bull’s position. Dorian came and pulled Grace out out from his hold. Bull stayed where he was, staring out over the ocean. _The tide rises. The tide falls. The sea is changeless._

“Bull.” Grace wrapped her hand around Bull’s. “Come on.”

Bull stayed as still as a rock.

Gatt punched Bull’s other arm. “Too many of them. If we don’t leave now then we’ll get over run.”

“But we could meet--” The need for vengeance, to make the qunaris’ death worth something, pulled at him.

“ _It’s too late, Hissrad,”_ Gatt yelled.

A fireball whizzed past Bull’s head, jolting him awake. Shit. Fuck. He ran with the rest of them.

*

Bull hadn’t even noticed when Gatt had slipped away during the retreat. Poor form. Vasaad would have slapped him for that oversight. He cursed himself as he and the others hurried through the forest, slipping and puffing through the wet until they’d put enough distance between themselves and the Venatori. Those Vint fuckers probably wouldn’t mount a proper search. Just enough to ensure their lyrium was secure. There’d been no sign of the Chargers so far. Bull had to hope that they’d make their way back to an Inquisition camp just fine. Might’ve run into difficulty while circling back, a cliff or ravine. Bull’d bought them enough time to retreat, he was sure. They would be _fine_.

Cassandra lead the group back to the Inquisition outpost and ordered a guard to patrol on high alert. Bull stumbled into a tent without a word and stripped off his armour. He lay back, panting, and stared at the canvas. He tugged his eye patch off and pressed the heels of his palms against his one eye, deeper into his empty socket. His whole body ached.

Had been a while since he’d failed either the qun or a contract. Losing the lyrium would’ve pissed him off more but the _boom boom_ of the dreadnought exploding echoed in his ears, louder and more insistent. Maybe it wasn’t that bad. Maybe all those men hadn’t died in vain.There could still be an alliance. Plenty of Venetori around. Plenty of red lyrium. Fuck, he’d helped shut down one massive mining operation. Cullen would find more. He’d report them and the qunari would come again. They’d storm the strongholds together. He could make up for this, still.

 _Liar_.

Gatt would say what had happened. He wasn’t Hissrad. He wouldn’t lie. Hissrad could deny it. His word against Gatt’s. But he knew that Gatt hadn’t been sent out there alone. Someone else would have been lurking, keeping an eye on the proceedings. Had to be, for such an unprecedented event.

They’d know what he’d done. They’d know what he’d become.

*

Grace hovered outside Bull’s tent with a cup of tea and some cheese. He hadn’t closed the flap so one booted foot stuck out. She didn’t want to pry and knew that asking if he was okay was a stupid question, but what else could she do?

“Iron Bull.” She whispered so quietly that she barely heard her own voice. She tried again, as loud as a mouse. Her lip wobbled and she blinked back tears. Bull was hurting. Hurting more than she could understand. A tear rolled down her cheek and she smeared it away like she would a bug. She wouldn’t blame herself. She had done the right thing telling him to call the retreat. He had done the right thing too, by the Inquisition and by his men. He would see that, surely.

“Gracie,” Dorian touched Grace’s shoulder. Rain dripped off his moustache. “Cassandra wants you. She’s going to send a raven.”

She nodded but didn’t follow immediately. She set down the tea and cheese outside Bull’s tent, knowing the tea would be cold and the cheese damp by the time he found it, but that was all she could do to let him know that someone cared for him.

*

Gatt only stopped running because he tripped over a tree root. He landed on the ground with a groan, pain lancing through his knee. He didn't care. He lay in the mud, heaving in gulps of air and stinking water until he coughed and spluttered and had to roll onto his back lest he drown. He lay in a puddle, starting up at the sky through the canopy above him. He didn't think. Didn't feel. Too numb, both his mind and his body.

A sten with curved horns bent down and poured an elfroot concoction down his throat without ceremony. Gatt spluttered again; the warmth spread through him, waking him up. He rolled, crawled out from the puddle and slumped against a tree.

The sten met his bleary stare. “We should go after them. We should capture the Tal Vashoth. He failed the qun.”

No. Hissrad had not failed the qun. The qun had failed him. _Again_. The realisation burned as bright as the Seheron sun. Gatt couldn’t say that though, so he spoke another truth, his tongue dry and sticky in his mouth. “We wouldn’t be able to catch up with them, and even if we did, we’d have to fight the Inquisition for him. Let him go for now. We know where to find him should we need to.”

The sten accepted Gatt’s reasoning and helped him up. Together they traipsed through the forest to their camp on the coast, around the head from the smuggling operation. From his spot by the smoking fire, he saw the Venatori ship sail past. Wouldn't be long before it reached Minrathous and the slaves.

“They won't get past Ostwick,” the sten said, like he’d heard Gatt’s thoughts. “We have more dreadnoughts.“ He spoke in that monotone typical of qunari. No emotion. No feeling. Just the all knowing, all consuming qun. Hissrad wasn't like that. He knew duty as much as any qunari, but he was _more_ than most qunari. Better.

“We will need to go to Skyhold,” Gatt said. “Officially renounce the alliance.” He paused, waiting to see if his companion would again order Hissrad’s capture, but he didn't speak. Just nodded. “I'll inform the Tal Vashoth of his new role, as well.” The word burned his heart. _Hissrad, how could you? You of all people? To turn your life away. For them? You’ve changed, Hissrad._ Then again, Gatt had changed, too.


	3. Aftermath

The group slipped into Skyhold late evening after a long three days’ riding. The gates had already shut. No fanfare, no welcome. No Josephine or Cullen to welcome them back. Only Leliana, expression hidden under the shadow of her hood. She would know what had happened already. She tilted her head back to inspect the travellers. Bull looked away, handing his reins off to some boy who must’ve scurried out of bed to deal with the horses. He grabbed his bag, shrugging away Leliana’s request for him to attend the war room debrief.

“Boss was there. She knows what happened.”

“I would like to hear your account.”

“Tomorrow.” He didn’t give her a chance to stop him.

*

Bull waited for the Chargers to return. One day turned into two. Three. Four. No ravens, no runners. No message that they’d made it out alive.

The fear started in his fingers and toes. A little itch too deep to scratch. His heart beat too hard, too loud, like it was banging on his ribcage, trying to escape. He steered clear of shadows, terrified of what lurked beyond his vision. He didn’t sleep, afraid of dreams he couldn’t control.

On the outside he was fine. Just old Iron Bull, drinking and fucking and laughing. During the day he trained with Cullen. They both hit hard, took no liberties. Just the way Bull liked it. Cullen had figured out how to feint and take advantage of Bull’s blindside. Only happened once. Next time he tried it, he was on his ass with the point of Bull’s blade at his throat. Would be easy to push it in, nudge past the resistance of his oesophagus, feel the gristle… _No. This man is your friend._

At night he went to the tavern and drank. Spent some quality time with Varric and Sera since his boys weren’t around to cause mischief. Cabot at least seemed to appreciate the change. Varric gestured wildly when he spoke. Would be easy for Bull to wrap his arms around Varric’s head and break his neck. Sera would be trickier. Too much like a sparrow, that one. Hard to get a good grip. Better to work her into a corner then smash her face with his fist, or a bottle, whatever was in hand. _No. These people are your friends._ He shook his head and when his eye finally focussed, there were Varric and Sera, whole and healthy and asking if he’d had too much to drink.

He took a serving girl to bed with him, had her sit on his face while he ate her out, his hands clamped to her thighs as he held her there, forcing orgasm after orgasm so he could down in her need. His need. She showed him the bruises in the morning. She savoured them, wearing each thumb-sized mark with honour. Bull retched into a bucket once she left, horrified that he’d hurt her. He hadn’t meant to, not her, not then, not like that.

Grace came to him on tip toes, tentative. Quiet, lonely, Grace. Tiger followed, winding around Bull’s legs before clawing her way up to sit in his lap. What was it they said in the south? There’s more than one way to skin a cat. Bull could think of several. Would he make Grace watch?

“Bull, I’m sorry,” Grace said. “I don’t know what to say--”

“Then don’t say anything.”

Grace flinched, like Bull had struck her. Her eyes watered and she fidgeted, toed the ground with her boot. “Yes, well. I just wanted to say sorry for what happened. Have you heard from--No. I suppose you haven’t. I’ll leave you be.”

She left her back exposed as she walked away. Foolish error. Nothing stopping Bull from slipping his knife from his pocket and throwing it at her head. Get the flick right and he’d have the blade embedded in the back of her skull. Barely shed any blood that way. She turned, like she’d head his thoughts, and strode back to him.

“No. I won’t leave you be, not until I’ve said my piece. You did the right thing, Bull. No matter what anyone says.”

“Are you done?” he asked.

“Yes. Good day.” This time she sidled away, keeping one eye on him until she rounded the corner and disappeared.

Later, that night, after his company had limped happily out of his room, he pulled out a sheaf of paper, inked his quill and started writing.

_Shanedan,_

_The mission to shut down a Venatori red lyrium shipping operation on Ferelden’s Storm Coast failed. The combined qunari-Inquisition force was insufficient to neutralise the Venatori operation._

_My contact made it clear that there will be no alliance between the qunari and the Inquisition._

_I remain a willing follower of the qun._

He included details of Inquisition movements, red templars, and other red lyrium mines. Then he read it through again. It was as close to the truth as he was willing to admit. He folded it up and slipped it inside a cypher. No one questioned him when he took Crusher from the stable and galloped away from Skyhold in the morning.

*

A broken cypher lay on the ground, ink staining the dirt like black poisoned blood. The Ben Hassrath had moved quickly, changing codes and dead drop locations. He’d been lucky to even spot the drop that particular cypher had been in. Not so lucky that the code hadn’t changed. He ignored the broken cypher and its lost mysteries, and finished writing his latest report.

*

Five days. The Chargers arrived back in time for dinner. Bull greeted them at the gates. They cheered when they saw him, their retreat forgotten, and demanded drinks. Bull forced himself to smile. It was getting harder. His cheeks hurt. Lips felt like they’d crack.

“Who did we lose?” he asked.

Grim lead a riderless horse over, a body-sized bundle strapped to its back.

“Lucky,” Krem said. “Not so lucky this time, I guess,” he added. He gave the bundle a pat. “She wanted to be buried. Something about being kept whole. Sounded kinda creepy but I promised her so here she is. Didn’t just want to leave her out there.” He fiddled with the straps on the carrybag of his own horse and presented Bull with a cloth bag. “Careful. It leaks.” A puff of ash came out. “Pop. Or what’s left of him. Grabbed what we could when we made our retreat. That’s why we took so long. Had to burn him. He started smelling.” So matter-of-fact.

Bull nodded slowly as he cradled the remains of one of his men and looked at the body of another. He knew death. He’d been the one to inflict it on enough people over the years. Knew what it was like to survive, too, to walk through the remains of a battlefield and pick over friend and foe. To be the only one left standing.

“Come on, Chief. We’re starving.” Krem slapped Bull’s arm and headed towards the stables. The rest of the Chargers followed, with Rocky starting up a song.

They all sat in the tavern together, cleaned up and boisterous, shoving roast lamb into their mouths and talking all at once. Bull couldn’t quite believe that they were back. But here they were. All his boys. Almost all of his boys. Lucky and Pop, their deaths would be honoured. But for now, celebration.

Relief flooded through him, cool, refreshing, drowning the fear, at least for a while.

*

Far in the valley below Skyhold, two pinpricks of light flashed against the snow, followed by a puff of white and then clumps of black. Grace counted the beats from the flashes until the _boom boom_ reached her in her tower. So that’s how they dug the grave. Made more sense than taking a shovel to the ice-hard ground. Good thing it wasn’t Rocky who’d died then or they wouldn’t have anyone to blow things up any more.

She kept half her attention on the proceedings throughout the afternoon. There wasn’t much to see, just dots moving about the crater Rocky had made. Come evening, the orange glow of a fire lit their camp. What they had planned hadn’t been all that clear to Grace. She hadn’t wanted to ask Bull, not after the way he’d spoken to her the other day. Krem had been frustratingly brief, saying not much more than “funeral rites” but he’d accepted the basket of flowers Grace had handed him with surprise and said thank you with such tenderness that Grace felt her attempt to tell them all that she cared had succeeded. It wasn’t much, but it was all she could offer.

They would be out all night, she knew that much. Grieving in their own peculiar Chargers way. Probably with lots of singing and drinking. Sometimes the best way to deal with sadness was to be happy. Maybe with his friends around him again, Bull could be happy, too.

*

Gatt’s arrival in Skyhold a day later was no surprise to Bull. He’d been expecting him and his quivering rage. He hadn’t been expecting who came with him though. A qunari. Tall, with swept back horns and the red vitaar of a sten. Looked like he had all the humour of a sten, too. That was okay. Bull wasn’t in the mood for jokes.

The pair were stopped at the gates by the guards. Bull watched from Cullen’s office high up in a rampart tower. Gatt looked like he’d explode at any second as they were both subjected to the indignities of being searched liked they were any other poor refugee instead of dignitaries from the most feared peoples in Thedas.

“Any ideas on how we should approach them?” Cullen asked.

Bull sighed, his heart hollow. The frayed rope keeping him tethered to the qun snapped a little more. “Let them keep their weapons,” he said. “Never separate a sten from his sword. At least until they get to the war room.”

Cullen nodded and headed out to greet the visitors. Bull waited until Cullen had descended the stairs but left before he could see them meet. He left via the opposite door and gave a message to summon Josephine, Leliana, Cassandra, and Grace.

Bull arrived at the war room first. Not wanting to stand with his back to the door, he walked around the table, dragging his fingers across the map. He looked down. South. The direction all qunari looked when they faced Thedas. No one looked north. There was nothing there but desert and a past no one wanted to investigate.

Leliana and Josephine arrived together, smiling politely at Bull. Josephine busied herself with a stack of papers and hummed. Grace arrived next, holding Tiger like a baby. She smiled tentatively at Bull. He smiled back. None of this was her fault. He shouldn’t’ve have been so short with her the other day. They hadn’t spoken since then.

“Would you like to hold her?” Grace asked, offering Tiger.

Bull shook his head. “Nah, you keep her.” He might need to defend himself, or her, from the sten. Or more likely Gatt. Better not tell her that though.

Cassandra strode in and took her place next to Bull. “Cullen is delaying them. We have a few moments to prepare. Do you know what we should expect?” she asked.

Bull immediately imagined a blood bath. Qunari crashing through the windows slaughtering everyone, leaving him till last. But that was his fear speaking. The qun didn’t do revenge. The qun didn’t demand lives like that. “If you’re asking if we can expect a fight, then no. They’ll probably just formally renounce the offer of the alliance.”

“I won’t let them hurt you, Bull,” Grace said. Spoken with such conviction. But what was she going to do? Throw that cat at them?

A knock at the door signalled Cullen’s arrival. Both big doors started to swing open, not the little one they they usually squeezed through. Pulled open by the guards on the other side. There was the respect. Gatt and the sten stood side by side without their weapons, Cullen at their backs. Gatt would hate that. They walked in, stiff and unsure, stopped from going any further by the war table. The doors closed behind Cullen and he joined his companions on the Inquisition's side of the table.

Gatt met Bull’s eye and for a burning second Bull believed the old saying had a hint of truth in it: his heart stuttered like he’d been stabbed, but there was no knife. Then Gatt stared daggers at everyone else.

“Inquisitor.” He bowed, stiff. “Ambassador Montilyet.” Another bow. He named all those in attendance, bowing each time. He didn’t say Bull’s name. “I am sure you are all aware by now that the alliance between our peoples will not be proceeding. I am here to inform you of this fact. Now I shall be on my way.”

Leliana spoke before Gatt could turn. “You seem to know who we are. You will not allow us the same courtesy for you?”

“I am Ben-Hassrath, and this is Sten. More than that you do not need to know.”

“I wonder whether the qunari ever intended an alliance at all,” Leliana said. Gatt pursed his lips. “You sent no delegation to discuss the potential alliance yet you are here now to tell us what we already know. Why bother if you already knew what the outcome of this so called test would be?”

Gatt quivered like the taut bowstring he’d always been. “I am here for Hissrad’s benefit, not yours.”

“Tal vashoth,” the Sten said.

Gatt whipped his head over to the Sten, then back to glare at Bull. Bull stared back, pleading with his expression for Gatt to understand. But how could he ever hope to understand when Bull’s own tether had snapped? Gatt turned on his heel and left the war room, the Sten following.

“Gatt,” Bull called. “Wait, please.”

Gatt stopped, shoulders heaving. He turned. “I have-- _the qun_ has nothing more to say to you.” The pain that leaked through the cracks in Gatt’s voice made Bull take a step back. Gatt snatched his sword from the guard and continued through the hall, out of Skyhold and out of Bull’s life for good.

“That’s it.” His voice cracked as his last single thread to the qun broke completely. “I’m on my own now.”

Someone approached his blindside, then shuffled around to his good side. Grace. “You have the Chargers,” she said. “And Tiger. And you have me.”

Josephine cleared her throat. “Iron Bull, now may be an impertinent time to ask, but will you be retaining your contract with the Inquisition? If so, we shall need to renegotiate your contract. If not--”

“We’ll talk contracts later.” He left the war room with no destination in mind. His fists burned to hit something but there wasn’t a training dummy or partner in all of Skyhold that would survive the despair simmering through his veins. Gatt and the sten wouldn’t have finished crossing the bridge so he couldn’t even escape into the mountains. Instead, he headed towards the second-tallest tower in Skyhold, picking up rocks and stones as he went. If throwing rocks off the balcony had been good enough for Grace, it would be good enough for Bull.

*

Krem woke to a rustle at the tent flap. His fingers curled around the knife under his pillow as he assessed the threat. The shadow loomed, muttering expletives in what could only be qunlat.

“Wrong tent, idiot.” Krem settled back down, knowing Bull would apologise and stumble away, hopefully without tearing the tent with his horns.

The movement stopped but Krem couldn’t hear the retreating footsteps.

“I almost killed you.”

“No, you didn’t. Wrong tent is all.”

A shuddering sigh from Bull had Krem sitting up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He couldn’t see in the dark, but he could hear well enough. “Shit, chief. You’re not crying are you?”

“I almost killed you, Krem. And Rocky, Stitches, Skinner, Dalish, Grim. All of you.” Bull’s voice wavered as he recited the names of his inner circle.

The bastard stank of ale and sex. Clearly he needed more than someone to pour a pint of water down his throat. Krem told Bull to wait outside while he pulled on his boots.

Out in the moonlight of the camp, Krem saw just how… broken Bull looked. He stooped, half as tall as usual, harness off, eye patch askew.

“Come on. Let’s go for a walk.” Krem led Bull up the steps and along Skyhold’s ramparts, sitting down opposite crumbling crenelations so they’d have a view over the mountains. The moon threw the peaks into sharp relief, ridges like blades.

Bull sighed, pulled a flask out of his pocket. Krem snatched it away, ignoring the filthy look cast his way.

“There were too many fucking Vints. I had to choose. My life or my lie. Grace stood with me as we watched that piss storm on the beach. ‘Do the right thing,’ she said.” Bull laughed, all bitter. “Right. Like it’s that easy. She looked up at me with those big blue eyes of hers and all I could see was you in that fucking tavern and those fucking guards with a knife to your throat.”

Krem watched as Bull stared ahead. He hadn’t realised it’s been that close a call. Sure, they’d seen a lot of Vints down on the beach, saw the dreadnought too. Thought they’d be able to take them though, especially with the dreadnought backup. But Bull had sounded the horn and they’d turned and ran. Retreating often felt like the coward’s way out: fight or die fighting, but while any one of the Chargers was prepared to lay down their life for Bull, they would die for him. Not the qunari. Not the qun.

“There will be assassins, Krem. Ass-ass-ins.” He drew the syllables out. “I’m Tal-Vashoth now. They’ll want me dead.”

Krem snorted. “They can try.”

Bull’s head dropped down, his one eye blinking slowly, jaw working. “You’re a good man, Cremisius Aclassi.”

Krem smiled. “Aw, Chief. Don’t get all soft on me. Come on, let’s get you to bed so you can wake up all embarrassed about this in the morning.” Krem stood and held his hand out for Bull. Dumb-arse almost pulled him back down as he staggered to his feet.

Once Bull had found his tent and had managed to crawl in without having it collapse on top of him, Krem stuck his head through the flap.

“You’re a good man, too, Iron Bull,” he said. He waited a few minutes for a reply. A snore was all he got. “No more Hissrad, now. No more lies,” he whispered before returning to his own tent.

*

In all his turmoil, Bull almost missed the change in the guard rotation. Avianne and Ludo moved off patrol duty, replaced with Sanders and Reading. Those names weren’t familiar. Well, they were familiar, but only in the way the most common surnames in Ferelden were familiar. Too generic. The kinds of names you would choose if you didn’t want to be noticed. Bull noticed the kinds of people who didn’t want to be noticed. Ben-Hassrath training. Their standards were slipping, clearly. Or maybe they wanted him to notice.

Didn’t take him much to figure out their plan. So, he wasn’t even worth the effort of a well-coordinated strike to take him back to live out the rest of his life in qaar-samek induced hard labour. Bull bristled at the insult, the implications. Still, that meant they were only interested in him and not Grace or the rest of the Inquisition.

Now that he knew, he had to make sure he didn’t tip them off. Business as usual then. Until they decided to strike.

*

Grace had just shrugged into a shadowy corner to avoid Josephine’s attention only to get caught by the steely-eyed glare of Bull. Two weeks ago she’d’ve grinned in reply. Now she found herself avoiding him as much as she avoided everyone else. The worst part about it all was she didn’t know what she’d done wrong. She was sure that the failure of the alliance, and Bull’s foul mood, was down to her. She had practically ordered Bull to call the Chargers’ retreat, after all. And she knew he was hurting but she couldn’t help him. She couldn’t avoid him now though, not when he strolled over to her like she had a target painted on her chest. She straightened her back and tried to put on a welcoming smile.

“Hey Boss, how’s it going?” he asked. Just like that. Like everything was normal.

“Fine?” she replied. He gave her the raised eyebrow. The one that meant he knew she was lying. “I was just hiding from Josephine, that’s all.”

He smiled then. “You want a distraction?” He stepped to the side, giving Grace the space to step into the sunlight again. “Let’s go for a walk around this mighty castle of yours.”

“Please, it’s not my castle.”

He waved her away. “Sure it is. You’re the Inquisitor. Come on. Let’s go.”

Grace swallowed down the heavy way he said Inquisitor and followed him to the nearest staircase, taking long, purposeful strides, at least until they got to the top of the ramparts. Then they slowed down.

“Just the guards up here,” Bull said. “They’re not likely to bother us.”

That was all well and good but Grace couldn’t help but feel the chasm that was still between them, yet here was Bull, thinking everything was okay. Or pretending to. He must be pretending. But when Grace stole a glance, he looked content. She frowned. “You’ve barely said two words to me since we got back and when I tried to talk to you, you just-- and then, with Gatt...” She stopped walking. Bull didn’t. “Bull!” He finally stopped as well, with a flicker of irritation. Too bad. She had to ask. “Are you okay? Truly? I don’t know what being Tal-Vashoth means but--”

“It means everything.” That anger again. The anger that scared Grace, so uncontrolled, not directed at anything, just everything. Bull opened his mouth but as he did so, someone lunged at him. One of the guards? And another. Grace stumbled back as Bull grappled with these sudden assailants. He shoved one off, grabbing him by the neck and flinging him off the ramparts. A dagger stuck in Bull’s shoulder, oozing red and dark green. She should do something, something to help, call for someone, a guard, but these _were_ the guards. The other man fell to the ground with a knife in his hand, slick with a clear liquid. Bull stepped on his wrist with a crunch and the knife clattered on the ground. He didn’t scream. Bull leant down, taking the guard’s chin in his hand.

The guard’s mouth worked, sounds coming out but nothing Grace knew. But he wasn’t speaking in common. He spoke.. qunlat? He finished with a horrible grin. Bull twisted his head and didn’t stop until his neck popped and the body fell limp. Then Bull heaved it up and threw it over the ramparts.

“Yeah yeah,” he muttered. “My soul is dust but yours is scattered all over the ground now, so…”

He threw the knife over the ramparts, then pulled the first blade out of his shoulder, chucked that one too. He hissed. Grace's guts flipped.

“Who… What was that?” she stammered. Her senses finally came back so she stumbled towards Bull with the intention of doing… something with his wound. But he put out his hand, stopping her from getting too close.

“Careful. It was poisoned,” he said.

That would explain the green tinge to the blood seeping down his arm. “We need to get you to a healer!” Why didn’t he seem all that bothered by this? Was the poison making him think funny?

“Yeah, I will, but there’s no hurry. I'd been loading up on the antidote so it's not urgent. Just stings like fuck. I've hurt myself worse fooling around in bed.”

That comment almost derailed Grace's thoughts. Almost. She'd think about it later but for now, she offered him a handkerchief and repeated her question. “Who were they?”

Bull looked sad and angry and lost all at once. “Assassins.”

“Assassins? For me?” Not again. She thought she'd be safe in Skyhold, after Haven. She couldn't think about her own guards trying to kill her.

“Not for you. For me.” Then, because she must have looked very confused, “they were Ben Hassrath.”

What? “Well they weren't very good.”

Bull gave a wry smile. “They weren't supposed to be good. They were used to send me a message, to tell me just how far I've fallen.” Nothing about qunari made any sense, ever. “If they really wanted me dead, then I'd be dead already. They're just formalising my new role.”

“Tal Vashoth,” Grace said.

“Yeah. Tal va-fucking-shoth.” Bull spat.

Not this again. “Hey. “ Grace hit Bull, right on his oozy shoulder. “ _Hey_. You're a good man, Iron Bull.” She hit him again. Why couldn't he get that? Why couldn't he see that he didn't need the qun?

He looked rueful and lost. He rubbed his arm. “Thanks Boss. I gotta go deal with this.”

Grace stopped him before he left. “You'll need to tell Cullen and Leliana that the Ben Hassrath got into our guards.”

“Yeah. Should properly tell them how that happened.”

He started back towards the steps while Grace looked at the drops of blood on the ground. That last sentence repeated in her mind. And the poison antidote. He'd been expecting it. She looked up at Bull's retreat. “Wait, “ she called. She ran up to him. “Did you know about this? That it would happen?”

Bull shrugged and winced. She really should let him go, especially since he was poisoned, but she needed answers. “Got tipped off by a change in the guard rotation.”

Grace’s face heated up, so incensed at this man’s stubbornness. “Why didn't you tell Leliana? Or Cullen? They could have caught them before they got you!”

That pained loss turned hard. “I needed you to see what I have become. You need to understand who I am now. What the qun does with their discarded tools.”

Oh, no. That was too much. No more of this self pity and this stupid qun. “You're not a tool, Bull. You're a person! I don't know how I can get you to see that! If the qun only sees you as a weapon then you're better off without it. You keep talking about roles and purpose. Don't you see? You’ve had a purpose here, with the Inquisition, and not just being a spy. It doesn't matter that the qun sent you to us. Not any more. You're here now and you're my bodyguard and that won't change. It won't change you. And when all this is over and you've guarded me all the way back to Ostwick, you'll still have the Chargers. You'll still be a mercenary. And you're _still_ a good man, no matter what anyone says.” She sucked in a breath, oxygen starved from the intensity of her rant.

He gave her a soft look, lost and sad. So sad. He mumbled something about getting his arm seen to. He left, finally, leaving Grace alone on the rampart. She shivered, spotting a couple of guards not too far away. She didn't trust them, not now, and especially not when she was alone. She wouldn't have been able to fight off assassins like that. That's why she needed a bodyguard, why she had Bull. She stared over the edge. She couldn’t even see the bottom. Couldn’t see the pathetic attempt of his people. Then she left before the guards could get too close.

*

Both Leliana and Cullen were pissed off that Bull hadn’t told them that their guard had been infiltrated. Didn’t matter. Bull had had it under control. Word spread amongst the inner circle of the attempt on Bull’s life. No one was more angry than Sera. Seemed she wanted to launch a one woman invasion of Par Vollen. Bull had to talk her down, distracted her by suggesting a few pranks, mainly at Cullen’s expense.

For his part, Cullen threw himself into training with Bull more and more, giving the excuse that he was getting rusty commanding troops instead of fighting with them. True enough. Best of all, he hit hard. So did Cassandra.

Dorian invited Bull join him for chess in the garden when the weather was nice. They played in the library when the snow fell. Solas played chess with him too, though they traded their moves in messages. Having to keep the board memorised used enough of Bull’s concentration that he couldn’t think about much else.

Blackwall called on Bull to get his help fixing up a few axes that the Inquisition had acquired. Varric ran story ideas past Bull. Even Madame de Fer herself did her best to take Bull’s mind off of what he’d become. She taught him the latest Orlesian dances and hit him with her staff when he slouched.

But none of that was enough. The fear gnawed at him, a persistent ache that kept him awake at night. When he couldn’t sleep, he got up. When walking around the ramparts and talking with the guards wasn’t enough, when taking the weight off the kitchen staff’s feet wasn’t enough, when reciting the Soul Canto made him sick, he sat down and wrote reports. Maybe, maybe all wasn’t lost. He had to tell himself that.

He sat at his desk in his tent, hunched over a sheaf of paper. He had no way of knowing if his reports were even being read but he had to try. He had to fucking try. When he was done, he slipped the report into the last of his cyphers. He twisted the combination, thumbing each gear carefully, every click another needle in his heart, until he reached the start again. If whoever found it were to have any chance of reading it, he had to leave it unlocked. And on the off chance some inquisitive bandit happened to stick his hand inside a hollow log and pull out the cypher, well at least the report was written in coded qunlat.

Krem rapped on his tent and came in. He didn’t sit. He stood there with his hands on his hips. “You called?”

Bull handed him the cypher. Krem shook his head, lips a thin line.

“Come on, Krem. It’s the last one.”

Krem stood fast. “Chief. Leave it.”

“I can’t.”

“You have to. You’ve been writing those damn reports ever since we got back. What do you think it’ll achieve? They made it clear that you’re out now and about time, too.” Krem’s voice pitched higher as his anger grew.

“This is my life, Krem,” Bull said, struggling to keep his tone even.

“It’s my life too, Chief, and you chose it over yours.”

Red crept into the corners of Bull’s vision, his heart thumping, veins pulsing as blood roared through his body. His life. Krem’s life. The Chargers, the qunari, Grace and all her cats spun in circles through his head. His Tama, Vasaad, that fisherman from Seheron, those children. All those children. They all danced past his eye, laughing and singing until they were crying and howling. Then they were dead. All of them. Limbs torn and heads crushed. Bull looked at his hands. Slick with blood. He stood and flipped his table over. It hit Krem before he could jump out the way, just grazing his shins. Then Bull picked up his chair and smashed it over the upturned table.

“For fuck’s sake!” Krem yelled. “Have you gone completely mad?”

Mad. A spark of rage the kindling for a frenzy, a drive, a need to kill. To hurt. To give in and let go and destroy.

“Get out, Krem.” He spat the words but Krem didn’t move. The bastard just stood there and looked him right in the eye. “Get out. Now. Before I hurt you.”

Krem folded his arms. He shook his head slowly, spat on the ground, then left.

Bull squeezed his eyes shut but the red didn’t fade, it only grew brighter. Everywhere he looked, even in the dark, faces haunted him. Faces of people he loved, people he hated, people he’d only met once in passing but were remembered anyway. In his vision, he killed every single one of them. One after the other. Cleaved in half with an axe. Throttled by his own hands. Stabbed, slashed, punched and kicked. Everyone. Tama, Vasaad, Gatt, Krem, Fisher, Grim, that red head with the nice tits who changed her name every time he spoke to her, Flisa, Tiger, Cullen, Leliana, Cassandra, Dorian, Grace--Grace. Grace stood before him, pleading and weeping, one arm shielding her face, her other outstretched towards him. Her left hand. The one with the anchor. Bull raised his axe, ready to smash Grace into the ground but the anchor flared that sickly, poisoned green and Bull froze, axe poised above him. _His name is Iron Bull_. Her voice echoed between his ears and all around. _He is the Iron Bull. He likes the article. It makes him sound like he’s only a weapon, but…_ Bull’s wrist spasmed and he fought to keep hold off the massive axe. The Iron Bull. His choice of name. Grace looked at him, unblinking, his face reflected in those big blue eyes. _Your choice. The first choice you ever made, Bull._

The axe dissolved into dust and Bull fell to the ground as Grace flittered away in a burst of black butterflies.

The tent was dark when Bull woke up. He sat up and rubbed the dirt from his face. Outside, all was quiet. Late, then. He pushed himself to his knees, groaning, rolling his shoulders. His horns brushed the sides of the tent. Too small. Too tight. He had to get outside. He crawled, shoving the tent flaps aside and catching his knee on a rope but he made it out. He stood in middle of a village of tents. All his men. _They’re my men_. No lights, no fires. All asleep. He grabbed a skein of water and downed it, letting the water dribble free, cooling his chin and neck and chest. He sat back against a pile of crates and dumped the rest of the water over his head. It dripped down his back, trickled down his arms and sides, soaking into his pants. He looked up, way up to the highest tower in Skyhold. No lights from Grace’s room. She’d be tucked up in that big old bed of hers, covered in cats and fast asleep, no doubt dreaming of even more cats.

He did the right thing. She made him do the right thing. Bull laughed at the absurdity of how it took some poor girl out of her element, far from home, crying on a cliff in the ass end of the world to make him see that his lie was his life, not just his role.

Still. He needed a purpose now, lie or not. The qun gave him purpose. Leading the Chargers, being Grace’s bodyguard, that wasn’t enough. He needed more. More structure, more rules, something tighter and closer than the nebulousness of being a mercenary captain. He needed a tamassran, that’s what he needed. None of them in Skyhold. But maybe he could be a tamassran. There were people here who needed the kind of fuck only a tamassran could give. Tearing his gaze away from Grace’s room, he stumbled up, stretching. No point looking for anyone now. The tavern would be closed and it was too early for the kitchen staff to be getting up. He’d have to find someone in the morning. Until then, sleep.

*

Sex was all well and good but it still wasn’t enough. Good for the inhabitants of Skyhold, sure. Both Cullen and Josephine had noted the increased morale from some of those working under them. But the fear still itched under Bull’s skin, crawling along his scalp when he lay in bed, alone, shivering in his own sweat.

His solution came to him while that red head bounced on top of him, her tits jiggling in time, moaning as Bull flicked her clit and twisted a nipple.

He had left the qun but the qun could never leave him. He knew that, now. Trying to forget the qun was like trying to forget how to breathe. The more he resisted, the greater his need for breath, for order, for things to be as they were meant to be. So he wouldn’t abandon the qun. He couldn’t. He would embrace it. Follow its precepts, its teachings. After all, everything in the world, everyone, had a purpose, a reason for existing. Even Bull, cast out for making his own choice.

_Existence is a choice. (I will live.)_

_Suffering is a choice. (I can refuse it.)_

_Struggle is an illusion. (There is nothing to struggle against.)_

_If you love purpose, fall into the tide. Let it carry you._

The redhead shuddered and moaned, squeezed around Bull’s cock so hard that he came too. When he opened his eyes (when had he closed them?) he didn’t see her. He saw someone else. Someone with bright blue eyes and a kind smile. Someone with a huge heart and shoulders too small for the task forced upon her. He saw someone in a role that did not fit her purpose. Then he blinked and the redhead gazed back at him all lazy and content.

“You really know how to please a woman, Iron Bull,” she said. She slipped off, dripping as she went. “But I have to get in quick to get a tumble with you. You know how popular you are?”

Bull grinned but didn’t say anything. He watched as she dressed, as she slipped out the door with a coy wave. He looked at the mess on his belly and sheets.

The qun had been Bull’s purpose. Now Grace would be his purpose.

 _Asit tal-eb._ It is to be.


End file.
